Harry Potter and the Quest of Magic
by Wandering Airhead
Summary: Harry Potter always knew he was meant for greater things. And finally his time has come. Now when the world of magic has finally revealed itself to him no adversities, nor immortal dark wizards will hinder him on his path.


**Introduction: **Every fanfic starts with an idea. It may be to make a Voldemort a good guy, or send Albus Dumbledore back in taime so that he becomes a fifth funder (didn't saw that one yet actually, what are you waiting for guys? :)

The idea for this fic was a question: What would Harry Potter be like if Harry Potter was not a book for kids, but say high schoolers, or maybe students, who look for some way to numb their mind after particularly nasty lecture. What would that be like? First of all we would need a dark lord, who doesn't act like an idiot, and what follows is a hero with something more than just incredible luck on his side. And maybe some backbone, to cut on the angst.

You will find this work to be AU, not strictly the single divergence point one though. It's just me taking liberties to fit the world for the main idea. I will try to limit the changes though.

Oh, and no, Harry won't have dozens superpowers on his side. He will have to do with more conventional means. Anyway, you'll find out soon enough ;)

**Disclaimer:** I heard a spokesman for Rowling's literary agent said that she is okay with fan fiction, as long as it is a non-profit work, with no claims to the copyrights for the original Harry Potter. So for the off chance that she or any of her agents ever read this I assure I make no claims to Harry Potter or any related contents, and do not intend to charge you even a penny.

But of course, if you wish to offer something out of the goodness of your hearts and purses, fell free to make a donation :D

_**Harry Potter and the Quest of Magic**_

**The expedition to magic**

* * *

><p><em>In this chapter:<em>

- Pouncer returns home

- Harry gets a magical ointment and discoveres the secrets of chemistry

- Vernon Dursley suffers cruel fate

- Dudley Dursley make his first step as a model, and his mother tries her strength as a fashion designer

- A small envelope becomes yet smaller

_Oh, why does reality always fail to live up to my expectations?_

* * *

><p>Arabella Figg was a squib. That however did not change in any way the fact that she was also a single woman, well over forty years of age. She led a simple life, with hardly any ups and downs, at least since the war ended over ten years ago. The times that came then were peaceful and quiet. The only things to really remind her of war were the grave of hare late husband and a single favour that professor Dumbledore has asked of her, which has earned her the membership in the Order, even if only a titular one. The favour that involved watching over one Harry James Potter. The very same boy that sat now right in front of her, making a face as she tended to his bruises.<p>

"If I didn't know better, I would say you are looking for trouble yourself," she said in a stern voice. He was such a polite boy, she really couldn't imagine how he managed to constantly attract so much trouble.

"It wasn't my fault ma'am. They were picking on that little boy and I just couldn't stand to watch," Harry protested indignantly.

"That's hardly a reason to pick a fight with two larger boys," she cut him. He was such a good child, if only he didn't try to act like a hero all the time.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He just turned his head with a pout.

"Sit still. Honestly, one would think you would be smarter than that. If you try to save everyone you will only end up getting hurt."

That ended the discussion, as Mrs. Figg has done her work. Soon they were by the door, as Harry insisted on returning home immediately.

"You sure you don't want to stay for a cup of tea? It's still early," she asked for the sake of asking, knowing the answer already.

"I wouldn't want to impose. Besides uncle Vernon will be angry if I show up late."

With that customary exchange she closed the door. Not for the first time she wondered why would professor Dumbledore left Harry in care of a family such as Dursleys? There must have been better places. She would even offer taking care of the boy himself, but for some reason it he deemed important that Harry stays with his family.

Sighing exasperatedly she went back to tend to her cats. Cessy will be giving birth soon, and old Pouncer just returned after another one of his escapades…

~•~

Out of Mrs. Figg's house Harry's face dropped. He rather liked the old lady. But her cats! Her house was literally swarming with them. It wasn't really so much the creatures themselves, though they tended to unsettle him. Who wouldn't be unsettled, if each and every one of his steps was observed by several pairs of eyes seemingly shining in the dim light. It could give you creeps. But no, the problem was Mrs. Figg's obsession with them. Harry would really enjoy her company if she could hold a decent conversation on any subject other than cats. It grew boring so quickly he didn't even remember it ever being interesting.

And there was her nagging. Like she honestly had to reprimand him every single time he dropped to use the first aid kit. But it was worth it. He didn't know where in hell she got her ointments, but they worked like magic, bruises tending to disappear overnight as if they were never there in the first place.

If only he could explain her that if he didn't fight other kids, they would walk all over his head. Like today, Malcolm was making fun of some kid, and calling him a 'freak' while knowing full well Harry heard him. It was such an obvious taunt he could as well say it stright to his face. Harry didn't like fighting, but he liked being mocked even less. He rarely ever won any fights, but it was as rare for his opponents to walk out of them unscathed. And it was enough to make them reluctant to pick more of them. They preferred to find a less vicious pray, even if it was the only smart thing Harry ever saw them do.

All would be well if Vermin didn't throw a tantrum every single time he showed up with a bruise on his face. But then again, he was throwing a tantrum over anything that involved Harry, even if it wasn't his fault. And Harry found out that the old whale of a man was far more lenient with fighting than with even a mention of anything strange happening.

As he neared number four Privet Drive Harry steeled his face. He prepared to tune off all the shouting and just go to his closet when the walrus pointed to it…

~•~

Vernon Dursley was angry. He had every right to be angry. Every court would deem him innocent. He had an exhausting day at work, where all seemed to go against his plans. Whole world seemed to do anything it could to make Vernon Dursley a miserable man. And it continued so for years now. Ever since a hell spawned child was left on the steps to his house over ten years ago. And now the very same child had the impudence to show himself in home bruised _after_ he has been told not to fight ever again under _any_ circumstances.

"You!" he boomed. "You were fighting again!"

Harry only cast his eyes down not meeting his gaze.

"You got here bruised again! Don't even think Aunt Petunia will tend to your wounds again! I swear she had done more for you than you ever deserved!"

The boy kept quiet.

"And if I _ever_ find you have fought someone you won't get off the hook. Hear me boy!"

"Yes, uncle," was all the response Vernon got, which made him even angrier.

"Quiet! To the cupboard! Now! And no dinner for you tonight!" he shouted pointing to the door under the stairs.

He waited until the boy disappeared inside before slamming the door shut and bolted it with both locks – the original one and the new one, that he installed after the boy managed to somehow pick the first one. What sins did he committed to deserve this. The child was not only a freak, but now grew up to be a delinquent as well!

Vernon heavily sat on the sofa. He desperately needed a drink.

"Petunia!"

~•~

Harry tuned the light on and rolled his eyes at sound of locks clicking. Why did the Vermin even bother locking the door. Did he seriously believed that anything would keep Harry of getting out if he wanted? Then again the man wasn't very bright, and who knows, maybe he really believed the second lock kept Harry inside. After all he didn't go out of his way to prove him otherwise. The boy sighed, and lied down on his bad.

He still remembered how he used to hate his uncle when he was small, a red, hot sensation overwhelming him whenever he was given another order. He didn't feel that way any longer. He would feel discouraged, after his last futile attempt to negotiate better living conditions, but not angry. Even now he fell pity rather than anger. Vermin was a shallow man living his shallow life, his narrow horizons setting borders on his world. Nothing in the world could possible change that, and so Harry ceased to try.

Fortunately the days of abuse were long over now. Harry quickly figured out to spend most of his time outside and then annoy the Vermin enough so he would be sent back to his closet, which was preferable to house chores. He only sometimes wondered how he would fare had he not learned to cope. Would his anger continue to drive him until it would consume him, like those evil super villains, or would he give up and let himself be contained and used as a slave, limiting his life to maintaining existence. Harry could hardly imagine that possible. He was made for greater things, and servitude definitely didn't count as one of them.

He opened his backpack and search for the book he begun to read yesterday. It was a chemistry textbook for high school, that he was able to 'borrow' from one guy. Yup, it wasn't the most fascinating book he read, nor was it his first choice. But hey, beggars can't be choosers…

~•~

It was dark outside when the lock on the cupboard door clicked seemingly opening by themselves, and one dark haired boy cautiously peered outside. He smirked. The pests went to bad, so he could finally go about fixing himself something to eat. He didn't eat anything since breakfast. Seriously, if he wasn't himself he would have ended half-starved by this age.

But he was a 'freak', as Vermin liked to call it, though he personally preferred 'gifted with super powers'. He had yet to determine what kind of super powers they were. He opted for psychic powers. He could make small things move, like using telepathy. Though that hardly explained how he managed to set that pen case on fire when he was eight, or how he made Vermin unable to make any sound on his seventh birthday. Nor did he know how he went about opening locks when he wasn't sure how they worked internally.

But there was a shortage of alternatives. Still, whatever it was, he had only limited control over it, but it wasn't much of a concern. _Anyone_ knew those kind of powers didn't fully develop until you were fifteen or sixteen, so he had a lot time to learn. Well, ok, maybe it wasn't so much time. It took him over a year until he managed to actually open his cupboard door. Training telepathy to the point that he didn't have to concentrate for minutes took another year and a half, and still he had a lot of trouble with moving them where he wanted instead of just summoning or banishing them. He wouldn't admit to it for the life of his, but deep down in his soul there was this suspicion that maybe, just maybe he wasn't as gifted as he believed. That maybe they were kids his age who could already do all sort of incredible stuff with their powers. A bunch of faceless kids defying gravity or putting others to sleep with just a flick of their wrists was one of his worst nightmares.

_Right_, he snorted inside his head,_ like that was so easy_.

He tried putting people to sleep, but so far or his attempts were fruitless. Nor could he recreate the silencing people, despite his numerous desperate attempts. They would leave him strangely drained, the same way the telepathy did if he tried to move anything remotely heavy. Maybe it was his powers being still too weak, but they didn't seem to grow in any significant manner, so he probably went about it the wrong way. Everything could be optimised, he would just have to find out how to use his powers in a more efficient manner.

It was a task for another time though. For now filling his stomach took priority. He had to take care of his body lest he would grew weak and helpless. You couldn't have a superhero with a weak body, it just didn't work like that.

Thus he quickly freed the fridge of some of its burden and proceeded to stuff his stomach, not particularly caring for the noise. The Dursleys all slept like logs, and you had to actually try to wake them up in the morning. It was proven on numerous occasions, when he went to 'borrow' a spare pound from uncle's purse, or went to play on Dudley's computer. Vermin's room was closed anyway, so hardly any noise would get there.

After he ate, he went to take a quick shower and then lounged himself on the couch in the living room. It was much more comfortable than his 'bed' in the cupboard, if it even could be called that way. Before he went to sleep he double checked the alarm on Dudley's old wristwatch. It wouldn't do for Vermin to find him on the couch in the morning…

~•~

It was July the 17th, when Dudley spent _entire_ evening parading through the house in his new school uniform like some abysmal caricature of a fashion model. Between Vermin's gruff comments on how proud he was, and Petunia's tears, Harry fought a losing battle trying not to gag. It would be funny, if it wasn't so downright wrong. He saw many things in his life but Dudley in knickerbockers must have been one of the ugliest among them.

It topped the list of worst experiences of the summer until the next morning. The smell that welcomed him when he got to the kitchen was far, far worse. Coming from the metal tub in the sink must have been the worst stench he had ever smelled.

"What is _this_?" he asked his aunt pointing to the container where a bunch of old rugs were swimming in grey water.

"Your new school uniform" she informed him.

"I don't know what kind of universe you live in, but where I come from dying some of Dudley's old rugs doesn't turn them into a school uniform," he surmised the further study of the tub and its contents.

He said quietly though, and Petunia was more than happy to pretend she didn't hear. She tended to ignore him ever since he started to talk back to her, unless Vermin was near.

Trying to ignore the stink Harry went to fix himself breakfast. He would have to do something about this new 'uniform'. Maybe it's time to try out a few of his 'get rich quickly' ideas?

Vernon and Dudley got to the kitchen as soon as Harry began to eat, both grimacing. Without as much as a greeting they sat down with a bang from the Smelting stick landing on the table. No sooner than Vermin finally opened his newspaper to finish the ritual, there was a click from the mail slot.

"Dudley, get the mail," said Vermin from behind the wall of paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, boy."

"The boy is unavailable," Harry said, which earned him a _look_ from his uncle.

"Poke him with the Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry only glared at his cousin and casually caused the stick to roll off the table, before getting up with a half-eaten sandwich in hand. The dunderhead would think he did it himself.

Several envelopes lie on the doormat and Harry browsed through a piece of bread hanging from his mouth. Bill, bill, a postcard… from the weredog Marge, and another letter in a strange envelope addressed to… Harry himself. Now that was curious.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The uneaten part of the sandwich almost landed on the floor.

Ok, easy, summarise. A strange envelope made of… parchment? A message written in a green ink, indicating someone who knew of Harry's predicament, or had a way to get such information if he wanted, which narrowed the suspects to people who wouldn't know a prank if they saw it… _What the hell?_

Turning the envelope in his hand he found a strange coat of arms on a purple wax seal. A secret organisation that unite all users of supernatural talents? _Come on, such things only exists in poor fantasy comic books._

"Hurry up, boy!" Vernon boomed from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking the mail for bombs?"

_I would sooner plant a bomb myself._

In the spur of the moment, the mysterious envelope ended up tugged under his shirt, which was baggy enough not to make it obvious. It wouldn't do, to get it confiscated before he could examine it properly.

He handed Vermin the rest of the mail and immediately headed for his little fortress under the stairs. The ware closed behind him and bolted before anyone even noticed. Food could wait, this was more interesting.

~•~

It was night time, later than usual when the locks on the closet door clicked open, and a small lonely figure entered the dark hall. It was fully dressed, with the used backpack hanging from the shoulder, and stepped with caution.

The fact that he could probably detonate a bomb in the living room without waking anyone didn't mean he couldn't use some caution. He left the partially packed rucksack by the door, and headed straight for the most important, and most dangerous part of the mission. Vernon "Vermin" Dursley, whatever one could think of him, was a man of considerable wealth. Dursleys were probably the most well of family in Little Whinging, as wrong as it was. And Harry went to get back what was rightfully his after years of Vernon's 'not wasting money on freaks' policy.

He carefully, but firmly opened the door and entered the room heading to the small bedside table, where locked in the drawer lay the leather wallet. And in drawer underneath was a small envelope under a stack of files, which contained a few hundred pounds, kept for whatever circumstances would require immediate access to money. Harry suspected that his expedition wasn't originally one of them, but he was thankful nonetheless.

A click of the lock, some shuffling, and another click, and Harry was suddenly fifty pounds wealthier. That should about cover it. He looked at the silhouette of a sea lion snoring obliviously just next to him. Really, one would think it would be harder. The first real quest he got, and suddenly the unusual events that keep piling in day to day life, are suspiciously absent.

_Oh, why does reality always fail to live up to my expectations?_

A quick supper, and some provisions gathering later, Harold James Potter headed down the hallway to begin the first oh the grand adventures of his life.


End file.
